


Loose Hands

by santanico



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Blindfolds, Dom/sub, F/M, Fluff, Handcuffs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 07:38:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/santanico/pseuds/santanico
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joan has never been in a relationship like this before. She’s never met a man like this before. Sherlock doesn’t seem focused on sexual gratification - there’s too much at stake with that in any case, at least between them, and Joan’s grateful because she doesn’t think she could do it, being the professional she is. But Sherlock enjoys being...deprived. Not in a way that could be damaging, of course. But he likes experimenting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loose Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Another bit of D/s fic for Joan/Sherlock - nonromantic and nonsexual. I wrote this over 2 months ago, just tweaked a few things tonight for posting. Absolutely zero spoilers.

Joan sets out to make dinner at exactly six o’clock, stepping out of the small dining room and into the even smaller kitchen and taking the chicken out of the refrigerator where it had been to thaw. She hasn’t gotten a chance to really cook much of anything in the past few weeks, and she likes that she’s finally got an opportunity to make something she thinks might actually be good.

Sherlock is quiet where he’s seated in the dining room and Joan smiles as she reaches up into the cupboard beside the refrigerator where she stored her spices. She gets out the ingredients - onion powder and a sauce to put on the chicken before she sets it in the oven, which is already preheating at 375 degrees. She’s pleased; she smiles and hums as she works, making very little noise as she moves across the kitchen in socks, sweatpants, and a light t-shirt. It’s nice to be working on her own without having to listen to Sherlock rattle on about whatever it is that’s on his mind.

Which isn’t to say that Joan doesn’t appreciate Sherlock’s tangents on occasion. She just happens to not be in any particular mood for them right now, and, lo and behold, neither is he.

“You awake?” she calls from the door opening from the kitchen to the dining room. She smiles again when she peeks in and sees him, sitting up perfectly straight.

“Yes,” Sherlock answers and to her surprise, he does sound alert.

“What do you think? Does it smell good?” she asks, referring to the chicken she’s just set in the oven.

“Yes.”

She hums pleasantly as a way of signaling her response to Sherlock and turns back into the kitchen, pulling her hair out of her messy ponytail and redoing it. She takes her time with this attempt, smelling the air herself and she pulls her fingers through her strands of hair. She’s wanted to make chicken like this, almost from scratch, for a good time now. There’s been so much going on with Sherlock’s cases and with her job that they rarely get to have a good meal; on occasion they go to nice restaurants but for the most part Sherlock is too impatient for dress clothes and much too twitchy for anything that fancy. Usually they find a way to settle in between but Joan’s been eating a lot of burgers and a lot less good food, and she hasn’t been doing enough cooking to satisfy her own cravings.

So this is the ultimate compromise. Sherlock gets to stay still and patient in a way he enjoys and Joan finally gets to cook something she’s been thinking about for weeks.

She steps back into the dining room and watches him for a moment. He doesn’t say anything, never makes a snide comment about how perhaps she likes to stare too much, though Joan is almost positive that he can sense her leaning against the door frame and doing just that. 

Joan has never been in a relationship like this before. She’s never met a man like this before. Sherlock doesn’t seem focused on sexual gratification - there’s too much at stake with that in any case, at least between them, and Joan’s grateful because she doesn’t think she could do it, being the professional she is. But Sherlock enjoys being...deprived. Not in a way that could be damaging, of course. But he likes experimenting.

The blinds and curtains are closed and though it’s a pleasant November day - chilly but still sunny - very little light manages to pass through, leaving Sherlock with his arms locked by handcuffs behind his back and behind the back of the chair, and a thick blindfold covering his eyes completely.

He doesn’t even so much as twitch. 

Although Joan never really imagined herself in this position - she doesn’t think many people do. He isn’t typical of what she’s read on BDSM practice; in fact, they barely skim the surface as two people, and Joan wouldn’t refer to it as BDSM if she had to put a word to it. She keeps him in control, and they play off each other. It’s something that works. They don’t need anything else.

She watches him, and is surprised when the timer goes off. It doesn’t feel like it’s been 25 minutes.

Joan lets her gaze linger but then moves back into the kitchen, pulling an oven mitt on her right hand and carefully removing the chicken from the oven. It smells good, and she’s grinning because she’s proud as she sets it on the counter and takes the mitt off before grabbing two plates, two forks, two knives. She steps into the dining room again and sets one set in front of Sherlock and the other across from him before going back into the kitchen to bring the chicken out.

“You ready to eat.?

“Yes.”

She smiles again, completely to herself. “I’m going to remove the blindfold and then the handcuffs, alright?”

“Yes.”

She unties the blindfold and folds it on the table next to Sherlock before getting the lock for the cuffs from her pocket and unlocking them.

“You did well,” she tells him as she slides back into her seat. Sherlock watches her for a second, expression not really giving anything away about how he’s feeling. He starts to stretch and she laughs a little. “I mean it.”

“Thank you.”

“Enjoy.”


End file.
